The plate I was holding slipped from my fingers and shattered on the ground.
Before anyone could react, my legs simply gave out.
I fell to my knees.
Looking at the boy.
Looking at Ricardo.
Trying to understand how his son could be identical to mine.
Ricardo watched me carefully.
Then he slowly placed his glass on the table.
And said something that made the blood drain from my body.
“Marco… I think it’s time you finally heard the truth about what happened seven years ago.”
The patio fell silent.
I stayed kneeling on the stone floor, staring at the boy like I had seen a ghost.
Little Diego looked back at me with pure curiosity, confused by the strange adult staring at him.
“This… this can’t be,” I whispered.
Ricardo stepped closer.
He didn’t look shocked.
He looked like a man who had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Marco,” he said quietly. “Stand up. We need to talk.”
My legs barely worked, but I managed to sit in a chair.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
Ricardo rested his hands on the table and stared down for a moment.
“Do you remember what happened seven years ago?”
I frowned.
“Seven years ago?”
Then it came back to me.
A rainy night.
Driving home after a long work trip.
I had barely slept.